


One Hand Gives

by gorillas_infinity



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 17:49:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16665421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gorillas_infinity/pseuds/gorillas_infinity





	One Hand Gives

Oasis. A name truly befitting the shining jewel of the Arabian Desert. To some, the lush manmade paradise is a destination. To those who take up residence there, a home. To its founders, Oasis is a shining beacon of human potential; a place for the advancement of knowledge free from the shackles of morality and fear.

 

Deep within the heart of this artificial Eden lives one Doctor Moira O’Deorain. A staunch subscriber to the founding principles of Oasis, Moira could more often than not be found toiling over her latest experiments and hypotheses late into the night and into the wee hours of the morning. Tonight would be no exception.

 

In her lab, Moira’s fingers dashed across the surface of a holopad. Above her, a single fluorescent lamp. Before her, a large steel slab of a table. Sitting in the near-darkness, Moira recorded the results of her latest experiment. Though many would call the ambiance cold or oppressive, it was one that Moira had become accustomed to.

 

With a hum of annoyance, Moira laid the holopad on the table, rising from her seat as the record on the far side of the room reached its conclusion. Her long legs carried her swiftly across the lab to the record player, where she lifted the needle and switched off the turntable. Music was the one source of distraction Moira found to be acceptable in her windowless lab as it served to drown out the otherwise deafening silence. Turning back toward the lab table, she stared almost contemptuously at her failure. Sighing through her nose, Moira leaned back against the table, arms crossed, her mind beginning to hum with thoughts of how to rectify her mistake.

 

Suddenly Moira’s ears were piqued, drawing her from her train of thought. Her eyes narrowed as she walked toward the open door and into the hallway of her manor.

 

“Who goes there?” Moira’s voice hung in the air of the empty hall. Moira’s soles echoed with each measured step on the hardwood as she made for the only open door in the hall. Stepping into her office, she scanned the room before her eyes came to rest on the large antique desk. Her eyes narrowed again as she hummed both in suspicion and annoyance of the imaginary intrusion upon her work. Turning on her heel to return to the lab, Moira came to face the largest omnic she had ever seen.

 

Standing just outside the doorway, the omnic would prove an impassable obstacle. As Moira reached for her communicator, the omnic’s arm opened to reveal an array of automatic weaponry. A small jerk of the arm was interpreted by Moira as instructing her back into the office. Turning toward her desk, she saw a military-style crate had appeared. Tilting her head curiously, Moira approached the box with caution. Fingernails gliding across the top of the case, she moved behind her desk, arching a brow at the mountain of an omnic as her thumbs found the locks.

 

The omnic stood silently at the door, drawing Moira’s disdain. Looking down at the crate, she couldn’t help feel some sense of familiarity. Flipping the locks open, Moira lifted the lid of the case back on its hinges, the interior illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the window behind her. Peering inside, her brows furrowed.

 

“What is this?” Moira seethed, gently closing the lid. She scowled as the omnic continued to stare blankly. Clenching her jaw, she sat deep in her chair, continuing to stare at the box on the desk.

 

“Consider it a gift, Doctor O’Deorain.” A woman’s voice called with a southern drawl. Moira turned her head just in time to see the woman step out from the shadows obscuring the corner of the dimly lit room.

 

“And who, pray tell, are _you_?” Moira asked dismissively.

 

“Who I am,” the woman began, stepping closer, “Ain't important.” The woman slid between Moira and her desk, facing the sitting scientist. “What _is_ important is why I'm here.” Moira began to stand in protest, but the woman’s hand found her shoulder, pushing her back to her seat. “Oh, you just stay nice and comfy, Doc,” she said, leaning back against the desk on her heels, the brim of her cowboy hat covering her eyes the entire time.

 

“What is it that you want of me?” the doctor asked, eyeing the coach gun on the woman's hip. “Had you wanted me dead, you would be proving to be very poor assassins.”

 

“Oh, ain’t nothing like that,” the woman said. “More of a proposition.” Moira looked at the woman with an arched brow. “See, I’m what you might call a purveyor of valuables. And sometimes I come across something like this,” she patted the top of the crate, “That might be of interest to someone like you,” she punctuated with a fingergun pointed at Moira.

 

Moira looked through the woman at the crate on her desk. “Assumedly you expect some form of,” she paused, “Quid pro quo?”

 

“Well,” the woman lifted her hat, allowing Moira to see her face. Her red eyes pierced into Moira as she leaned off the desk, her knees bumping against Moira's, “Fair’s only fair.”

 

“What do you propose?” Moira asked.

 

The woman slid her knee onto the chair between Moira’s thighs. She smirked down at Moira. “I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” Sneering at the invasion of her personal space, Moira focused her attention on the crate. The woman combed her fingers back through Moira’s hair, lightly gripping and manipulating her head much to Moira’s ire. “But like I said,” the woman said as she gingerly turned Moira’s head this way and that, “This one’s a freebie.”

 

Moira bared her teeth, almost snarling by the time the woman finished speaking. When she had finished, the woman released Moira with a smile and pranced toward the door. Sinking back into the chair with a face full of contempt, Moira watched as the omnic stepped to the side to allow the woman passage. Dragging her fingers up the door jamb, the woman stopped and turned back to look at Moira.

 

“Be seeing you, Doc,” she grinned, turning the brim of her hat back down before taking her leave, the omnic in tow.

 

Moira stared at the empty doorway for a few moments before turning back to the crate. She focused on the crate intently, her hand resting on the lid with a heavy sigh, brow furrowed and jaw clenched.


End file.
